


turn the lights out on me

by scrapbullet



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Comfort, Developing Friendships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Not Beta Read, Other, Panic Attacks, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 13:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11647836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: “Far as I can tell, Maple Bay is some kind of nexus for paranormal activity.” Robert says, apropos of nothing. He slides a glass tumbler across the coffee table toward you, the amber liquid sloshing over the rim and catching there, sticky droplets that you suck off of your fingers.The taste of it stings the back of your throat. You cough weakly, grimacing. “So… like a Hellmouth?”Mary, slouched in a leather-upholstered chair with her feet bare and toes wriggling in a soft, shag rug, snorts loudly and tips back the rest of her glass of house red with gusto. “This isn’t an episode of Buffy, nerd. Life isn’t a TV show.”





	turn the lights out on me

“Far as I can tell, Maple Bay is some kind of nexus for paranormal activity.” Robert says, apropos of nothing. He slides a glass tumbler across the coffee table toward you, the amber liquid sloshing over the rim and catching there, sticky droplets that you suck off of your fingers.

The taste of it stings the back of your throat. You cough weakly, grimacing. “So… like a Hellmouth?”

Mary, slouched in a leather-upholstered chair with her feet bare and toes wriggling in a soft, shag rug, snorts loudly and tips back the rest of her glass of house red with gusto. “This isn’t an episode of Buffy, nerd. Life isn’t a TV show.”

(No, no, it’s a hell of a lot fucking weirder, isn’t it? Or disappointing. Both? Either-or. Why else would you be sitting in Robert’s house after spending the night traipsing through the woods, sitting across from the woman whose husband you might have possibly had a teeny-tiny crush on at one point, talking about… well. Talking. About that thing that happened the other night, when you and Robert came across something that was physically impossible to ignore. 

Aliens? Nope. 

Cryptids? Good guess, but no.

 _Mothman_? We should be so lucky.

Let’s go with… Wendigo. Y’know, that thing that used to be human and has a taste for human flesh. Mm _hmm_ , now that’s someone you want over for dinner.

Its teeth, serrated and dripping gore, bared as it snarled, crouched over some poor fucking idiot with his pants round his ankles. Poor fucking _dead_ idiot. With his rib-cage cracked open and lungs a mushy pulp that the Wendigo, still maintaining horrifying eye-contact, had slurped up with obvious hunger and satisfaction.

Suffice to say that you, and Robert, had booked it out of there quicker than you can say Long Haul Ice Road Paranormal Ghost Truckers.

You’re still surprised it didn’t come after the both of you. Maybe it was too full from the entrée to go for the main course.)

Robert grins, exhilarated, and there’s a light in his eyes that is both beautiful and terrifying. The fear from that night - the kind of fear that leaves you light-headed and breathless, dry-heaving in the passenger seat of Robert’s truck - has passed, and now Robert is all but vibrating in his seat at the idea of getting physical evidence, let alone photographic. 

Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to shoot it, stuff it and mount its head on the wall. 

Admittedly that would be pretty awesome.

“How’d you figure?” You ask, curious. As far as you’re concerned Maple Bay is as quiet as they come and always has been - the happenings of that particular night excluded, of course. (God, you haven't even phoned the cops yet. You really should.) It’s why you chose to settle down here, after all, and Alex had loved that you could both start afresh and focus entirely on Amanda. 

Robert sips at his whiskey, glancing at Mary shiftily. 

Mary scowls. “Don’t look at me, I’m not telling him.” She squirms, looking uncomfortable in her pencil skirt and sweater, the wry twist of her lips lowering into something like remorse. “It’d be better coming from you anyway.”

Clearing his throat Robert leans forward and sets the tumbler down onto the coffee table with a resounding _thunk_. “I was looking into some stuff; y’know, strange animal deaths, crop circles, weather patterns, _some real weird shit_ -”

Oh. Ohhhh. Fuck, you have a bad feeling about this.

Robert peters off, chewing on his lip. He looks uncomfortable, eyes flitting to Mary to you and back to Mary again, hunching his shoulders down all the more. “There was a whole lot of that back before your old man died.” He opines awkwardly. “And coupled with the way he, ah, _passed_ -”

Your pulse thunders in your ears so loudly that Robert’s words are muffled, and you stare at him with growing incredulity. “Alex had a car accident.”

Robert leans back, nervously rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans. “Well, I could be wrong…”

_God, you need a drink._

“Yeah, yeah you’re wrong, alright! Alex died in a car accident-” Blood rushes to your face and you grab the whiskey bottle with fumbling hands, pouring more onto your jeans than into your glass.

“That’s what they told you, slick,” Mary interjects, taking the bottle of Glenfiddich out of your trembling hands, re-capping it with an expert twist. “But I bet they didn’t let you see the body before the funeral.”

“It was an open casket!”

Scoffing, Mary twists and throws her legs over the arm, kicking her legs in the air. The twist of her painted lips is sardonic and utterly cruel in her honesty. “So? They can do a lot with make-up and prosthetics these days, don’t you know.”

“ _Fuck’s sake, Mary!_ ” Hisses Robert.

The glass falls out of your hand. 

(Robert makes an aborted attempt to reach out to you, a sound like a wounded animal passing his lips.)

You barely notice the warm spread of alcohol on your sock-clad feet, so overwhelmed you are. These people are your friends, and they’re suggesting that- that-

Oh god. But what if they’re right. What if Alex’s death is some kind of messed-up conspiracy?

_What if-_

_Fuck,_ is it stuffy in here, or is it just you? It's kinda hard to breathe.

Suddenly you’re aware of Robert kneeling in front of you, and of his calloused hands wrapped around your own. He’s rambling, and Mary is sitting beside you now with a guilty expression on her sharp features. Betsy sits on your feet licking idly at the whiskey soaked carpet, her tail a steady drum beat against your ankle.

“...conjecture, but I saw the police report…” Robert’s thumbs rub over your knuckles soothingly, his anxious chatter and closeness easing your panic.

“I think you mean _hacked_ ,” Mary interrupts, looping her arm through yours.

“ _Yes, Mary, I fucking hacked the police-_ ”

“Well it’s relevant, isn’t it?"

_“That’s not really the point, Jesus, Mary-”_

Mary tips back her head and cackles like the drunkard she currently is. “Blasphemy!”

You laugh, and it’s strangled and wet with tears. Huh. When did you start crying? “I want to see that damn report, Robert.”

Robert pauses, appraising you with a concerned eye. “Do you really think that’s a-”

You smile the widest, toothiest smile you have in you. It’s terrifying. “Show me the fucking report, Rob."

-

Robert shows you the report.

You can’t _un_ see the report.

The photo’s will probably give you nightmares.

So it’s a good thing that Robert is there to kiss away your tears and hold you close.

(That Mary wriggles her way into bed beside you to cling like a limpet… well, you don’t mind, not really. She may be a bit of a bitch, but dammit, she’s _your_ bitch.

"I’m sorry,” she murmurs against your chest.

“S’fine,” you reply, tucking her in close. “But you’re shit at comforting."

"True, that."

Robert sighs heavily, pointedly. “Yeah, you're a real pair o' peaches, now _shut up and go to the fuck to sleep_.”)


End file.
